


To Be Young Again

by Melodious329



Series: To Be Young Again [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melodious329/pseuds/Melodious329
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are on a hunt when Dean accidentally gets transformed into a kid again, giving Sam an insight into his brother. Unfortunately the demon that did it is still out there, How will Sam keep little Dean safe?</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Young Again

The inevitable silence had fallen once again inside the Impala. Despite that they both had lots of experience entertaining themselves in the car, even Dean eventually ran out of games and conversation topics and, hell, even ways to annoy his younger brother. And then the silence would fall, leaving Sam alone to his thoughts and concerns.

And today, Sam's thoughts were on his brother. He sneaked a glance out of the corner of his eye to see Dean sitting there with a look of mild concentration on his face, his slender fingers absently tapping a staccato rhythm against the steering wheel. Sam wondered what Dean thought about when the silence fell.

Sam couldn't imagine. Dean was a mystery to him. The younger man couldn't fathom how to reconcile the Dean that mocked him for being a 'girl' with the Dean that comforted him during his nightmares, the shallowness and the sarcasm with his brother's need to protect and take care of everyone, his brother's cocky, self-confident sexiness with Dean's newly exposed self-loathing.

Not that Sam noticed his brother's sexiness, of course not. It was a given that Dean was beautiful. Everyone noticed, everyone had always noticed Dean even when they were kids. His father had said Dean had inherited Mary's looks. Then Sam had been jealous of the attention, now he was torn between being jealous of the people who had Dean's attention and enjoying the view himself.

Because Sam's feelings toward his brother were as conflicted as the man himself. He both loved and loathed his brother, the savior complex, the immaturity, the emotional walls…not to mention Dean's passion that could so quickly turn to anger. Dean represented all the things that Sam had run away from, the supernatural that had cost Sam his life. But how could he hate the man who had tried so hard to give Sam 'normal', to give Sam 'safe', Dean who hunted for all the right reasons, to save people, unlike Sam and his dad.

Sam wiped a hand over his face not even noticing that they were pulling up to a diner.

"We're here. Thought we'd eat first and check into a hotel second." Dean said right before he slipped out of the car.

Once they'd ordered, the silence didn't fall again. It had already been broken.

"So, what are we dealing with here?"

Sam sighed. Did Dean ever actually listen to him or did his brother think he just liked the sound of his own voice.

"Like I said before we left, Dean. Three men are dead in suspicious circumstances…"

Dean interrupted, making Sam want to pull his hair out. First Dean asked him what was going on, and now he won't even listen as Sam repeats it for like the twentieth time.

"Men, huh? I swear that saying really is true. Ya know, the one about 'hell hath no fury'…Man gets dumped, he just moves on, but women…no, they gotta come back and kill every man they can find."

Sam sighed again. "I don't think it's a spirit, Dean, and we have no idea what the motive is, so could you stop with the misogynistic tirade and let me finish."

"Whoa, what crawled up your butt and died?"

"Nothing. There were three men that disappeared for several days only to be found dead, all in different but secluded areas with various knife wounds on their bodies. According to the paper it looked ritualistic."

"Hmm, demons, even better than vengeful female spirits. Guess tomorrow we'll go check out the bodies ourselves and then see what we can dig up on the victims."

Sam rolled his eyes. Of course that's what they'd do, that's what they always did.

The rest of the evening passed without incident, Dean's seemingly irrepressible good humour eventually rubbing off on the younger hunter like it always did.

The next morning found them at the morgue dressed in their cheap suits in order to impersonate police officers. Sam found himself thinking that in fact, Dean actually would make a pretty good cop. In another life maybe that's what his brother would have become.

The coroner left them alone with the body after telling them that he was unable to identify the weapon used. The man tells them that it looks like some kind of talon.

Dean immediately flipped the sheet off that was covering the body.

"Dean," Sam whined. "Have some respect."

His brother just snorted. "We need to have a look, or did you forget why we're here. Hey, what does that look like to you?"

Sam huffed and stared down at the man's upper thigh. At first they just look like scratches, but then the lines start to look less random…

"A symbol."

"Unh-huh, looks like it's time to hit the library, little brother."

Several hours of fruitless research later, during which Sam was mostly occupied in keeping Dean occupied to the detriment of his own work.

"Ah-hah!" Dean cried out suddenly, and the first thought in Sam's head was 'oh no not again'. Could his brother not pay attention for five seconds?

"Sam come on, I really found it."

With a sluggishness born of aggravation, Sam got out of his own seat to peer over Dean's shoulder. Of course the first thing he noticed from that vantage was not, in fact, the musty old tome that his brother was reading out of, no. The first thing that Sam noticed was Dean's smell. Dean smelled of musk and sweat and burnt carbon.

The second thing he noticed was the soft-appearing skin of Dean's neck. It wasn't until Dean shivered as if he knew what Sam was looking at, that the younger Winchester actually looked at the page.

"A Farafew, Dean? Dude, those eat children and there have been no missing children." Sam spoke slowly as if his brother was an idiot. Sometimes Sam wondered if Dean really was as stupid as he made out or whether it was all part of some cover to be overlooked.

"Well maybe those guys were turned into children first?"

"Of course they were, Dean, cause that makes sense, instead of just taking children."

Dean just shrugged his shoulders like it didn't matter that Sam had shot down another of his ideas. "Everything else fits. What'd you find, college boy? Anything similar about the victims?"

"No, nothing. It's a small town, they all went to the same school, but were on different sports teams, had different jobs, different social circles…wait a second…"

Moving more quickly now, Sam moved the other papers off the tables and lay down just the map. He plotted the three points of where the bodies had been found and then stood back considering.

"What does that look like to you?"

"The same symbol as on the body, the same symbol as that "

"Drop the Farafew, Dean. But I think I know where the next murder is going to occur and if the pattern of days keeps it should be tonight."

That night found them in the back lot of an old abandoned farmhouse. Sure enough, there was a man there, laying on some kind of crude stone altar in the middle of a stone circle. But there was nothing else there, nothing else that they could see at least.

"Keep a watch, Sam."

Dean stepped into the circle, untying the poor sod, who ran for the hills as soon as he was free.

"What, no thank you," Dean quipped, not noticing as an odd blue light began to fill the circle.

"Dean, get out of there!" Sam stopped short of stepping inside the ring because Dean wasn't moving. His brother was simply huddled on his knees surrounded by that bright light which just got brighter and brighter until Sam couldn't see inside it anymore.

Sam should have expected it, he supposed. Dean had probably never heard of Ockham's razor, but the elder man had gotten right to the heart of the problem. Sam shouldn't have been surprised when the light faded to reveal his brother…as a small child swamped in clothes.

"Dean…?"

The boy's head whipped up and Dean's wide green eyes looked out at Sam from a child's face, a frightened child.

But then Sam noticed movement, a darker shadow against the dark of the woods behind the circle, and it was coming closer.

Sam raised the rock salt-filled shotgun and fired at it, causing the darkness to dissipate. Then he went inside the circle.

"Come on, Dean. We need to go."

Dean even as a child recognized the danger he was in. The sharp eyes scanned the woods and the circle he was kneeling in, before passing a measuring glance over Sam himself.

Knowing that staying wasn't his safest option, the boy did move. Dean stood, stepping out of his jeans, but holding up the black boxers with one tiny hand, despite that the t-shirt reached below his knees.

Sam held out a hand for the boy to hold, which Dean just stared at with disgust. Dropping his hand, Sam hadn't made it two steps before the boy's voice piped up. The voice came from behind him and Sam reminded himself to slow down.

"You're a hunter." It wasn't exactly a question. "Like my dad."

"Yeah, like…your father. My name's Sam, like your brother." Sam had quickly decided not to say anything about them being related until he could ascertain how much the child-Dean remembered.

"What's going on? Where am I? And where's my dad?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"Going to sleep, in our hotel room…with Sammy." The last part was said softly.

Thinking on the fly, "Well, something took you, kidnapped you from the hotel room, and your dad sent me because…" Uh-oh, his imagination was running out…

"He had to take care of Sammy, I get it."

"Yeah, he took him to, uh, Pastor Jim's."

"But how'd the monster get in, I always make sure to salt the windows and doors."

"Because there's a human accomplice." Sam hadn't realized it until that moment when Dean asked, but it was the only thing that made sense. There was a person out there, who was choosing the victims, possibly luring the men there and then summoning the demon.

Dean just nodded, but then he stopped walking abruptly as the car came into view. "Why do you have the Impala?"

"Oh…well, your father lent it to me to come get you since I don't have a car."

Shrewd eyes turned to look at Sam. "He's coming with Pastor Jim, Dean. He knew I needed to get here quickly to help you."

Satisfied with that explanation, at least for the moment, Dean began to walk toward the car again, but he tripped and fell.

Sam leaned down to help the kid up, realizing then how tiny Dean was in comparison to him now.

"Let me help you." Sam wasn't surprised that the boy had fallen, but he was surprised to see that the boy's feet were cut up.

Shoes, the kid didn't have any shoes and they had been walking through the woods. Why hadn't he noticed? Why hadn't Dean said something?

"De-an, your feet. Why didn't you say something?"

The boy just shrugged again, a move so similar to the twenty-something Dean that it was almost comical to see.

"It's fine." Also a typical Dean response.

With a sigh and a 'come on', Sam got the boy into the passenger side of the Impala, not that Dean let him help of course. Mostly Sam just stood next to his brother, stooped over to be ready in case Dean fell again.

Their first stop a 24 hour Wal-Mart, which Sam thanked God for at that moment. "So…How old are you, Dean?"

That assessing gaze again before the answer came. "Eight."

"Well, I'm gonna go get you some clothes, real quick, can you tell me what size you wear?"

Ten minutes later, Sam was standing in the little boy department having a small panic attack. He didn't know the first thing about kids. Sam had never even babysat before, it wasn't as if he had any younger cousins or neighborhood kids or anything growing up.

He really wished that Dean was here. Of course, that was the whole problem wasn't it. Not only would Dean know how to handle kids, despite his apparent low tolerance for them, but Sam had never been on a hunt alone like this before. He had to take care of a child and get the monster which was probably going to be looking for Dean.

After another ten minutes and some help from a very nice elderly salesclerk, Sam returned to the car with a couple of bags. "Hey why don't you get in the back and go ahead and change."

Dean seemed even more wary but he crawled into the backseat and looked inside the shopping bags. He waited until Sam had gotten into the driver's seat, before changing, making sure to stay hidden behind the seat.

Sam made sure to stay by Dean's side as they walked to their room at the motel, particularly when he spotted a man hanging around outside. He wasn't so naïve that he didn't recognize the look of lust on the man's face, and the man was looking at Dean, Dean with those big eyes and lips that fortunately he grew into.

Dean shrugged off the hand that Sam attempted to place around the boy's neck in an effort to keep the boy close.

"Dean…"

"I see him," was the sharp response.

"You need to stick close."

"I know what he's looking at, and don't worry, I ain't gonna make that mistake again."

Sam stopped. "Dean? Did something happen, did someone…?"

"No!" Dean's answer was a sharp cry, horrified that someone would think that. "Dad came."

Kneeling down so that he could be on Dean's level, Sam asked, "What happened?"

Dean shrugged nonchalantly again. "Nothing, I just went to get ice and there was this man in the parking lot. He said he needed help and I…I should have fought him off like Dad taught me, but…He told me what he wanted, what Dad had warned me about. But Dad came and he said…he said the bruises would remind me not to do it again. Can't trust nobody, just like Dad said."

The boy said that last with such certainty that it just broke Sam's heart. He had never heard about that story, had never thought to look for human monsters as a child. But Dean knew apparently. It was just another horror of the world that Dean had experienced at too young an age and then protected Sam from, another thing that Dad probably told Dean never to mention again.

And then it hit him. Sam realized that this might be the perfect opportunity to understand his brother. Already, Dean had spilled more than the adult Dean would ever admit to. It was his chance to understand the forces that had shaped his brother, to see their childhood from Dean's perspective.

The shrtiga case had given Sam an insight into why his brother always followed Dad's orders. It had let him see that Dean had truly grown up in a 'war', as a soldier. If his brother had not followed Dad's orders then people could have gotten hurt. You can't question your superior during a firefight. Hell, if Dean hadn't followed Dad's orders, who would have taken care of Sam? Dean had acted as the adult, allowing Sam to remain a child. This opportunity might fill in the rest of the blanks.

Satisfied both with his own decision and with Dean's answer, Sam nodded and stood, leading the kid to their room quickly.

Closing the door behind them, Sam watched as Dean looked the room over.

"You're not hungry, are you?" It was the middle of the night, but Sam figured he'd better ask.

Dean just shook his head and dropped his bag. "Which bed is mine?"

"That one," Sam pointed to the bed the adult Dean had stepped in last night. "I got you a toothbrush, if you wanna get ready for bed, or take a shower or whatever…"

Green eyes were glaring at him again. "I'm not a kid. You don't have to baby-sit me."

And with that Dean disappeared into the bathroom with the toothbrush and the pajamas.

Sam sat on his bed, listening as the shower started. He supposed that Dean was right, he wasn't a kid even at eight years old. Hell, Sam himself was talking to the kid like he was an adult. This child-Dean was so quiet and subdued, not like most kids his age, not even like the Dean of Sam's earliest memories. Sam remembered Dean being so upbeat, always moving, always trying to get Sam to smile, to play.

But then Sam never really saw Dean with other people, and obviously their father as well as life itself taught Dean to be mistrustful. No wonder Dean had such terrible social skills.

"Matching pajamas? What's with you?" Dean's voice broke Sam out of his reverie.

"Uhh, I don't know. I just didn't know what else to buy."

"Whatever." Dean flopped down on the bed. "Mind if I turn on the tv?"

"What?" Sam queried. "You're not gonna go to sleep? It's pretty late."

Dean sat up, looking down at the comforter sheepishly. "I'm not sleepy," the boy mumbled. "Sammy's not here."

Sam smiled. "Sammy's safe, Dad's got him remember?"

"I know, but I've never…I've never spent a night away from him."

Sam couldn't help raising an eyebrow at the vulnerability in that statement. Dean must have noticed since he quickly continued.

"What if Sammy gets scared? I'm always there for him, Dad doesn't know what to do…"

Interesting. It seemed that Dean was not only worried about Sammy sleeping alone, but also didn't want to sleep alone himself. Maybe being strong for his younger brother was what kept Dean's own demons buried. He couldn't show fear or grief around Sammy because Dean didn't want his younger brother to worry. It was a sobering thought because that would make Sam just as responsible for the way Dean turned out as John, even if Sam hadn't done it consciously.

"Tell me about your brother, Dean."

That got the first smile out of the boy, Dean's lips, full even at that age, curving upwards. "Ahh Sammy's ok, for a little kid."

"What do you normally do together?"

"At night I normally read to him, he always likes that. Sammy's gonna start kindergarten next year. He's really smart, even daddy says so. I taught him to read a little. I'm not that smart, but I, uh, tried."

"I'm sure you're very smart, Dean."

That 'who do you think you're kidding' look was back on Dean's face. "I'm not stupid. I know what Missouri means when she says I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed."

Sam was surprised that his brother remembered the exact phrase the psychic had used. Apparently those barbs hit a little deeper than he had realized. Sam had to wonder whether the adult Dean shrugged off those comments as easily as it seemed, particularly since Missouri had said that exact phrase to Dean the last time that they had seen her.

"Well, what are you good at?"

Dean shrugged as if bored. "I like to build things, take things apart, but Dad says that's not real intelligence. Everybody just tells me to stop it."

Sam winced. He could well remember his own reaction the first time that he had seen Dean's 'home made' EMF reader…and the look in Dean's eyes when Sam ridiculed his brother. Obviously, Missouri wasn't the only one who simply assumed that Dean really was as insensitive to those put-downs as he seemed. After all, psychics only read thoughts, not feelings.

Dean continued speaking, seeming as if he were enjoying talking to someone. Or maybe it was that he was enjoying having someone to listen. Sam knew that Dean couldn't talk to their father and Sam himself was only four years old. And even when Sam grew up, Dean certainly never shared his concerns or fears with his little brother and Dean never let on that his feelings might have been hurt.

"It's funny that you have the same name as my brother. You even look a little alike. Sammy looks just like Dad, ya know. Not like me, I look like…"

Dean trailed off, the light going out of his eyes just before they dropped to stare at his lap again.

"Who, Dean?" Sam inquired softly.

To his amazement, Dean's eyes were filled with tears when they met Sam's again. But even at that young age, Dean didn't let them fall.

"Like her, like mom. Sometimes…sometimes when Dad's been drinking, he says…he says that he can't stand to look at me right then."

Sam was speechless. He certainly hadn't known about that, and he wondered whether even Dad remembered it. But he knew that Dean, the adult Dean did.

And unfortunately, he knew that the story was all too likely. He could imagine their father, the memory of Mary fresh in his mind, with a little too much to drink and no one to lean on, no one but his boys to turn to.

Dean's lips were trembling as Sam watched the eight year old attempt to hold back the tears. The green eyes were filled with a desolate misery and Sam had just tightened his thigh muscles in preparation to stand up, to go to his brother, this small child, to comfort Dean, when the boy turned away.

"I think I'm gonna go to sleep now." The boy's voice was choked as Dean lay down on the bed on his side, facing away from Sam and pulling the covers up practically over his head, leaving Sam to stare at the back of the tiny form balled up under the ugly floral comforter. And Sam still wanted to go to his brother, still wanted to hold the boy and find some way to console him.

But he didn't know how to take away that pain and it was obvious that Dean didn't expect comfort.

When Sam awoke, the first thing he did was look over at his brother's bed, hoping against hope that he would look over to find a fully grown man sprawling everywhere as usual.

What he saw however, was only a tiny lump and a bit of dark blonde hair peeking out from a pile of blankets. Sighing, he got up quietly. His brother never had been one for early mornings. In fact his brother had only ever gotten up in the mornings because Sam wouldn't leave him alone, jumping on Dean and pushing and prodding until his brother got up and got him breakfast.

Despite their current predicament, Sam had the impulse to wake the child-Dean up the same way this morning. He smiled and managed to stifle the urge.

Quietly, Sam made his way to the bathroom with fresh clothes in his hands. The hot water went a long way toward clearing his head, but a clear head only enabled Sam to worry more.

He missed his brother…his adult brother. He missed the feeling of protection, of safety that he always felt from his brother. No, he was never safe, their life wasn't safe, but Sam always had someone to turn to, he knew that Dean would do anything for him. Dean always looked out for him, always believed in him. Was this what Dean felt like? Having the weight of a child's life, hell, a child's happiness on his shoulders?

Sam missed the sight of his brother. How many times had Sam jacked off to the mental image of his brother in a shower just like this one? Not that he felt like doing that with his now eight year old brother in the next room, but even if Sam was conflicted about what else he felt for Dean, he definitely felt lust.

He wondered how the adult-Dean felt about the way he looked. Did Dean ever think about their mother, about Dad's words when he looked in the mirror or when a girl hit on him? Dean always seemed confident, proud of his looks, but then again, Dean also used them like a barrier. Like a shell, one could only get so close to the real Dean.

The Farafew…God, when he got Dean back Sam was going to have a lot of apologizing to do, but, in the meantime, the Farafew was likely to be going after Dean since he had already been turned into a child. And, if there was a human accomplice then Sam couldn't leave Dean in the motel room.

Sam would have to bring the kid with him when he went to interrogate the victims' families, which meant that he couldn't use any of their numerous badges to get into the house. Because what cop would bring a kid with him on a job? And before all of that, he had to get the kid some breakfast.

The thought of Dean as a little kid who needed care and protection still boggled Sam's mind. He had never thought of his brother like that, not even when they were kids. Dean had always been strong, the protector, the caretaker, the one in charge, the one that Sam could always count on.

Now Sam was having all kinds of new thoughts on the matter. Who had been there to take care of Dean? Who had soothed Dean's fears, Dean who had the weight of the preservation of their whole family on his shoulders. Now was the first time Sam had recognized how tiny those shoulders really were. Now he was seeing his brother with an adult's eyes instead of the eyes of a child who needed Dean, who needed his older brother to be strong.

Dressed, Sam exited the bathroom and walked between the beds to lay a hand on Dean's back.

"Come on, wake up, Dean."

The boy jerked underneath his hand and rolled to the side. Sam had been afraid that the child-Dean would react with fear at being awoken by an unfamiliar man. It was just another reminder that Dean had grown up in a constant state of fear, of readiness. There was a significant difference between Dean's childhood and Sam's own. Sam had had an atypical childhood, whereas Dean had experienced a traumatic event as a child.

As a four year old, Dean had had the veil of innocence ripped away. The world had never again been a safe place, instead of cause and effect, crime and punishment, for Dean there was only punishment and chaos.

Sam took a step back, allowing Dean some room to get his bearings and remember where he was. He knew when the child did, Dean's face transformed into a comically overdone scowl just as the adult version did in the morning.

"Get dressed and we can go get breakfast."

The boy managed to disentangle himself from the bedcovers and stumbled to the bathroom with one of the Wal-Mart bags.

When the boy re-emerged, he looked more awake but still subdued, like Dean was sulking.

"Hey, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," the boy mumbled. "When's my dad coming?"

Sam sighed, hating to have to lie to his brother even if Dean was currently out of it. "He'll be here soon. But in the meantime, we still have to take care of that thing that kidnapped you. You're gonna have to come with me while I interview people today, ok?"

At that news, the boy perked up.

"Really? I can come with you?"

Oh, thank God that Dad never took Dean on a hunt when he was this young. He knew that Dean had started young, younger than himself, Sam just didn't know how young. Dean had just always seemed to know everything already. But now Sam had to ask.

"So your father never took you on a hunt before?"

"Sometimes, but he never lets me do much. Makes me stand back with a gun or the bow." Dean scowled again, though Sam was fairly sure that his own expression was horrified. "He says I need to be prepared, that I need to see them so that I won't be scared, so that I can protect Sammy when Dad's away. Just cuz I got hurt that one time…"

"What? What time?"

"I was really little then, I can do better now…"

As if the child wasn't little now. What was his father thinking? How could John have possibly justified bringing an eight year old child on a hunt?

"What happened, Dean? When?"

Sam loved how the child's face looked so sheepish and uncertain. This Dean was so much less skilled at redirecting attention away from the issue.

"Uhh, I guess I was five…"

"And what were you doing on the hunt?"

Sam realized suddenly how loud and harsh his voice had gotten when he saw Dean stiffen and look at the floor. The child stammered and he hurried to explain himself.

"I wasn't supposed to leave the car, but Sammy was asleep and I heard Dad shouting like he was in pain. I got out and there was this freaky lady, a ghost…She threw me against a tree and I broke my arm. Dad still got it, I didn't mess up the hunt, but Dad was so mad…"

Sam couldn't imagine how scared his father had been in that moment. A five year old child, John's first born, flying through the air towards a tree, probably screaming and crying in pain. Sam knew well how his father's fear and concern could manifest in anger and shouting. And Dean, even at such a young age, wanting to save his father, like always.

Sam had seen his brother hurt many times over the years, too many times. He had seen Dean dragged back to the car or the hotel or wherever they were staying, Dean bleeding or broken, unconscious or cursing and spitting in pain. Sam had been there after both the Rawhide and the Yellow-Eyed Demon had put Dean in the hospital, watched the doctors telling Sam that his brother was going to die.

But in all those times, Sam had never thought about how young Dean was. Dean's body was a patchwork of scars that told the story of his whole life, some of them so old they were just barely visible, evidence of a brutality children shouldn't know even existed.

"When my arm got better, Dad taught me to shoot. I'm really good, got every can on the first try. Dad was…proud, I think."

"That would have made you six, Dean?"

Sam sighed long and slow, trying to get his frustration back under control. It wasn't aimed at Dean anyhow. The boy was still standing stock still, staring at the floor.

Awkwardly patting Dean's back, Sam spoke in a much calmer voice, "Never mind, I'm sure you're a very good shot. Come on, let's go."

It figures that Dean would have been a sharpshooter at six years old, like he had been born to it. Or like an act of will, anything to please their father.

They entered the supermarket with Dean leading the way.

"Ok, Dean, what…Dean?"

Sam called after the boy who was quickly bounding away.

"It's ok, I'll get it. I always do the shopping cuz Dad doesn't know how to work a toaster. I figured out how to cook when I was like six." Dean chuckled at his father's ineptitude.

God, Sam thought. No wonder Dean didn't know what healthy food was, their childhood filled with sandwiches and spaghetti-ohs and take-out. John had let an eight year old do the shopping. No, John had given an eight year old the responsibility of the shopping. Was there ever an age at which John had taught Dean how to shop, how to cook?

Because Dean didn't say that he was taught how to cook, but that he 'figured it out'. He figured out how to make first cereal then spaghetti and eggs and, finally, actual meals like burgers and chicken and casserole. What other things did Dean figure out how to do: change diapers, soothe skinned knees and hurt feelings, hide himself, hide his feelings and pain?

"Well, that's fine, Dean, but I'm gonna come with you."

At that Dean stopped, looking back at Sam in puzzlement.

"But Dad always stays in the front of the store with Sam."

Sam had known that. In his earliest memories, he had gone with Dean, up and down the aisles as Dean filled the basket on his arm with their meager food stuffs. Dad would meet them at the front to hand over the money, not even looking through their purchases, simply trusting Dean.

It had always been Dean that had kept them fed as kids, had kept even John fed, and it had been Dean who decided what Sam could or couldn't get when Sam begged for sugary treats or toys. And now that Sam thought about it, Dean had often given in, managed to stretch their money somehow and buy Sam something that had made him smile.

"That thing's still after you, Dean."

Dean's mouth formed a tiny 'O' in realization and he waited for Sam's long strides to catch up.

"Why don't we get some muffins?" Sam suggested.

"Ok. Do they have blueberry? That's Sammy's favorite."

Sam smiled a little sadly. He certainly knew how his brother always gave into him, letting Sam have what he wanted while Dean made do with whatever was left. Dean hadn't always been happy about it, but for a child that never seemed to get anything that he wanted in life, Dean had been remarkably willing and cheerful most of the time.

"How about we get whichever kind you want, Dean, since Sammy's not here?"

Dean seemed to think about it, his eyebrows furrowed in another familiar gesture that Sam had seen a lot of lately on the adult-Dean's face. There had been a lot to worry over lately.

"Nah, better get the blueberry so I can save some for him."

Sam closed his eyes, hoping to have better control over his emotions before he opened them again. This was just another conundrum that made up his brother. Sam both wanted to love the boy for his selflessness and shake Dean for feeling that his wants and needs were simply less important.

"Ok," Sam couldn't hide the way his voice choked when he spoke again. "Whatever you think."

Sam took a moment while putting two muffins into the provided white paper bag. He had to ask, this was a question that Sam had always wondered about and now was as good a time as any.

"Dean, do you feel like Sammy gets everything…that he gets more attention?"

Dean turned that look on Sam again, that 'what the fuck' expression. "No." Dean shrugged, the motion belying his answer. "Sammy just needs more, ya know. He's just a kid." A grin spread across the child's features as he continued, "And he's so loud, always talking and questioning, he just demands attention. And he makes this face, I call it his 'puppy-dog face'. Adults just melt, give him whatever he wants…even I give in."

Dean shook his head, still smiling and turned away, effectively ending the conversation. Sam was stunned, a feeling he was becoming more and more familiar with every time that this child-Dean opened his mouth. Dean even as a child was apparently the master of denial, as if he truly believed that if he just ignored it, the pain would go away, as if his own needs would magically disappear.

But Sam had to wonder if Dean wasn't the only one who thought that way. 'The squeaky wheel gets the grease' and all that, and John may have thought that Sam needed more because he was younger. Not just John, but Pastor Jim and Missouri…but not Bobby. For some reason Bobby always seemed to look out for Dean, worrying at the amount of pressure John put on the boy.

"Can I have some milk?" Dean asked, oblivious to Sam's musings.

They were sitting in the Impala parked outside the home of the family of the Farafew's latest victim. They had eaten in the car, while Sam explained their cover to the young boy. Dean true to his word had only eaten half the muffin and wrapped the rest up in the paper bag.

Sam was drinking the last of his coffee as he reviewed their situation. It must've been a spell that had turned Dean into a child, since Sam's research had not indicated that the Farafew had that ability. And if it was a spell, it probably wasn't going to wear off, not until it had served its purpose which meant until the Farafew killed Dean, causing his brother to turn back into an adult corpse. The only other option would be if Sam got rid of either the Farafew or the human who called it.

"Come on, Dean."

Together they crossed the street and approached the house. It was a normal house, white, one story with a porch.

"Hold my hand, Dean." Sam didn't need to look down to see the look on the boy's face. "You're supposed to be a normal, helpless little kid. Play along."

With a huge sigh, Dean lifted a tiny hand to Sam. Then the door opened.

"Can I help you?" It was a woman who had answered the door. The victim's wife, Michelle, Sam assumed. She was very pretty, blonde and tan, like a trophy wife.

"Yes, I heard about your husband and I'm very sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions. You see, my brother, Dean's father disappeared just like your husband, Gary, but the police won't investigate until he's been missing for 48 hours…I just want as much information to go to them with as possible."

Sam knew he wasn't as good a liar as Dean, but the best lies were made mostly of the truth. And seeing the woman's eyes drift down to the boy beside him, Sam figured that this time he had an ace up his sleeve.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," the woman practically cooed as she bent down, placing her fingers underneath Dean's chin to tilt his face upwards. "Well isn't he adorable? Come on in."

With those words, the woman reached her hand out to Dean. The boy shot a glare back at Sam before reluctantly switching his hand to hers and letting her lead them inside.

Michelle sat down on the couch in an immaculate living room, pulling Dean to sit next to her. Sam took a seat in the nearby chair.

"What is it you'd like to know?"

Sam asked her everything he could think of. What Gary did in the week before his death, whether he had acted strangely, seen strange things, met anyone strange…anything. But there had been nothing unusual.

Sam had taken to watching Dean and how he responded to Michelle instead. The boy both seemed scornful of the woman and needy for her attention. Dean didn't like being treated like a child, frowning at the woman's baby-ish noises, but smiling that fake smile up at her and leaning into her touch when she ruffled his dark blonde hair and stroked a finger down his cheekbone.

His brother had always been disdainful of people who didn't know the 'truth' about what was out there. Hell, Dean had even been slightly derisive talking about the women who slept with him, seeing only his beautiful 'packaging' when they would probably run in fear if they saw what was underneath it.

At the same time though, Sam had often thought that Dean was looking for something in those encounters, some attention or affection that Dean's life lacked. Perhaps Dean even liked the anonymity of one night stands, not wanting intimacy or believing his real self unworthy of affection.

The adult-Dean had a wariness of physical affection, interpreting all touches as either painful or sexual. It was a harsh critique of John's parenting skills that his eldest son had grown up without knowing physical comfort. Sam had no such problems, because Sam had Dean.

His brother was right when he had said that Sam had one thing that Max Miller didn't have, though when Dean had spoken those words, Sam had been dismissive of his brother as usual. Dean really did stand between him and the darkness both within and without. Sam understood physical affection because Dean had touched Sam as Dean remembered their mother doing, brushing his hair off his forehead, rubbing his back, kissing his forehead. At least until Sam had declared that he was too old for that stuff, and even then Dean had continued it when Sam was really sick or hurt or upset.

Like when Dean had hugged their father the night of the Daeva attack and it had been almost clinging, relief and need pouring out in that simple contact. The relief at having his family safe and present, and the need to feel for just one moment that he was safe and loved.

Sam knew that their father loved them, John had sold his soul for Dean's life even as Sam berated him for not caring. The man just wasn't great at showing it, his need to keep his children safe and his fear of losing them had kept John aloof. And so Dean had grown up knowing only too well exactly what lay out there in the dark, exactly how frightening life could be, but Dean had grown up confused about all the things that really mattered. Dean didn't know that he was loved, that he was needed and cared about and important.

It was an enlightening encounter just not in the way that Sam had hoped.

The next house they came to was even nicer. The second victim, James, had been a well-off banker and his house was a yellow two story. The wife, Breanna, was a much plainer brunette, however.

She was also less pleased to see them.

"Well, I'm sure I don't know anything that could help find your brother, are you sure he didn't just skip town?" She said passing a measuring glance over Sam's clothes.

And turning toward Dean, she snapped, "Doesn't he have a mother somewhere?"

The boy looked as if he had been struck, but he quickly recovered, his face becoming hard, much harder than the face of any eight year old should ever look.

Sam squeezed Dean's hand tighter as he saw the boy's lips purse in preparation to retaliate with a nasty comment. He practically had to pull Dean inside the house.

The living room was also not as clean as the previous house, as there were children's toys scattered about. Dean's free hand trailed absently along a Fisher-Price toy house as they entered.

"Don't touch that!"

Both Sam and Dean started at the woman's sharp command. Sam watched in a sort of morbid fascination as the woman worked herself up, muttering as she gestured for them to take a seat on the couch as she sat in one of the chairs.

"The boy has no manners…child like that needs discipline, a firm hand…"

To Sam's surprise, the anger didn't return to Dean's face. The boy simply climbed onto the couch, sitting far away from Sam and ducking his head into his chest. He almost seemed to be withdrawing, trying to hide in the cushions, away from the woman's scrutiny.

At this point, Sam was not surprised. Dean as a child was obviously a lot more sensitive to people's comments than he had ever let on. His adult brother had a tough exterior, but Sam had never imagined that Dean had learned that in response to a difficult childhood filled with comments on Dean's unworthiness. Dean wasn't a born hunter, he had been fashioned into one, like everyone else.

Sam knew as children how often people had looked on them with contempt and suspicion. They lived in the wrong section of town, their clothes were ragged, their father never around…but Dean had borne the brunt of it. Dean had been absent from school more often, was more likely to have bruises from a hunt. People always assumed Dean was a 'bad influence', dragging his cute little kid brother all over town, dragging him out of the library and off the playground. But Dean had to enforce the rules, keep Sammy safe, get them both home before dark.

"Of course, no wonder how the boy turned out, what with his father running off, mother too, I bet…"

Now the anger reappeared. Dean was not about to let an insult to his family go unchallenged.

"Don't talk about my dad like that, lady! He would never…"

Sam interjected as the woman's mouth dropped open at the outburst, gripping Dean's shoulder to pull him back onto the couch.

"Dean, that's enough! I'm so sorry, ma'am, we won't take up any more of your time, just a few questions…"

Sam hurriedly asked the most pertinent questions about her husband. Dean shrugged off his hand and then sat sulking beside him on the couch.

That was the other reason people assumed Dean was a bad influence, because he never let anyone insult his family. Dean had a temper and he had gotten into a few fights at school, though not as many as he could have. Dad had effectively prevented most of it by both reminding Dean of the consequences of drawing too much attention as well as having Dean run dozens of laps at dawn for infractions.

Still Dean had effectively kept the bullies away from Sam as a child. Mostly Dean only had to threaten a few boys when he came to pick Sammy up after school for the message to become clear. Dean had a way about him, a dangerous air that belied the prettiness of his face.

Sam got them out of there as quickly as possible, having again learned no pertinent information.

Dean was completely silent on the way to the last victim's house, scrunching himself up against the passenger side door, obviously still upset. The boy was like that all through the next interview. Silent and subdued, his hand limp in Sam's own, ignoring the short, cute wife of one Daniel Fuller, even pulling away when she tried to run a hand through his hair.

Finally they re-entered the Impala, having finished interviewing all the victims families. Sam didn't want to think about the fact that they had learned nothing about their predicament quite yet.

"Hey, you hungry? Ready to grab some din…"

Sam didn't even finish that word. It was dinner time and he had completely forgotten about lunch. That wouldn't have been a big deal for him, Sam occasionally skipped meals when he was engrossed in work, but a growing kid…

"Dean, you must be starving? Why didn't you say something about lunch? I totally forgot…"

Dean just shrugged, his eyes darting over towards Sam but still not looking at Sam's face. Sam huffed and scowled, and then caught sight of the white paper bag on the floor by Dean's feet.

"Why didn't you eat the rest of the muffin? I know you must have been hungry."

Dean just shrugged again.

"Dean!"

"What?" the boy finally spoke, his voice irritated. "I'm saving it for Sammy."

"But I told you Sammy wouldn't get here today. You needed it."

"But Dad might have brought him today." Dean shook his head. "Sammy needs it, he's hungry all the time. And we never get muffins. I couldn't eat the whole thing and not give Sammy any."

Sam felt that conflict again. He was angry at the boy for not taking care of himself, for not eating the muffin or telling Sam that he was hungry, but how could Sam be angry at the boy for saving food for his little brother, for sharing what little he had?

Sam sighed in frustration. He let his eyes rove over the boy's form this time taking in the boy's size. It wasn't that the boy was super skinny, and Dean had always been lean as far as Sam could remember, even as an adult Dean was lean. But the boy was missing that roundness that children have, that extra fat like a cushion for growth. Dean's features were sharply defined, his arms sticks, his hand so fragile when Sam held it in his own gigantic one.

Sam sighed again. He obviously couldn't fault his father when he too had forgotten to feed the boy, when Dean was so comfortable being overlooked.

Driving straight to the diner near their hotel, Sam proceeded to order for the boy, trying to make sure that Dean actually ate some vegetables though he let the boy order pie for dessert.

Once their meals had arrived, Sam went over all the information he had so far gleaned. He couldn't help talking it out loud, being so used to bouncing ideas off his brother.

"So, none of the victims witnessed anything unusual prior to their death as far as their wives know. And none of the men varied from their routine at all. The only thing that they have in common is that a month ago they went to their high school reunion together, but they barely even spoke to one another."

"Well then the human accomplice was obviously someone at that party." Dean's words were garbled as he stuffed food in his mouth, though this one time, Sam didn't fault his brother for it.

"Obviously. But the problem is that everyone spoke to everyone, it was a reunion. And the victims have nothing in common."

"They were all popular."

"What?"

"From what you said, they were all popular in high school. Two were captains of different sports teams and the third was the president of the student government."

Sam stopped eating. Dean was right, someone was taking out the popular kids. It didn't help them a whole lot in finding out who, but it was a connection.

Dean wasn't as stupid as he acted, perhaps if Dean had applied himself in school he would even have been as smart as Sam. Sam could remember when he was small, Dean would help him with his homework or listen as Sam rambled on about what they learned in class that day. But Sam had quickly out-distanced his brother in learning.

Of course, while Sam was studying, Dean was making dinner, helping their father, going on hunts or doing extra training, hustling and making money with odd jobs. While Sam was trying to find a way out, Dean was working to keep them together, to keep them all happy and safe and cared for.

"You're right, but that still doesn't narrow down the suspects much."

"Use me as bait…"

"What?" Surely Sam had not heard that right.

"Whoever it is, is after me, right? So, if we don't have any other leads…"

Sam didn't want to think about how that actually made sense. "No, Dean, there has to be another way…" God Sam was beyond afraid to ask even as the words left his lips, "Dad didn't use you as bait before, did he?"

"No, but I want to help…I can do it, I promise, just like Dad taught me."

Thank the Lord. But then why would Dean offer himself up? He was a little kid for heaven's sake and Sammy wasn't even involved. "Dean…You don't want to do this just to impress Dad, do you? Because you want to be a hunter when you grow up?"

"Dude, I'm gonna be a firefighter. Dad just hunts til he can get the thing that killed mom. I just gotta keep Sammy safe, but I can't let this thing just keep killing people."

So Dean really did want to be a firefighter when he was a kid. Once upon a time, Sam's brother really did have dreams and aspirations that did not include hunting for the rest of his life, being alone and an outcast, though apparently Dean had always had a saviour complex.

What had changed? If it hadn't been for Sam would Dean have gone to college? If not for Dad would Dean have come with him to Stanford? But Dean seemed to have chosen this. When they first found the Yellow-Eyed Demon and Sam had told his brother that he would go back to school when the demon was dead, Dean had wanted to stay, to stick with hunting, saying that there would always be something to hunt, someone to save. What had changed?

And what had changed for Sam that he didn't know what he wanted to do anymore?

Sam watched the bathroom window of their motel room from a stolen car in the parking lot, thinking as he waited, unable to believe that he was actually using his brother for bait. Dean was an eight year old and Sam was still following his orders.

He took another sip of coffee from the thermos and asked himself again, what had changed? What had changed that he no longer felt sure that he wanted to run back to Stanford as soon as the demon was dead? At first it was just a desire to be close to his father, closer perhaps in death than Sam had been in life, but now…?

Now Sam didn't know that he could walk away from his older brother. He couldn't imagine going back to Stanford, interacting with those people, people who had no idea about him or his life. Sam couldn't imagine not having Dean to talk to, not being able to see his older brother first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Having Dean as an eight year old was hard enough.

When Sam had first started having those feelings toward Dean, he told himself that it was just because of Dean's looks, that it was just a twist of fate that his brother was so friggin' beautiful but he knew that it wasn't true. When Sam had left he certainly hadn't been thinking about anyone else but himself, but while he was away he found himself wishing Dean were there, wanting to share experiences with Dean.

Sam had expected to miss Dean. Dean had always been there for him, but it was more than that. It was like something was missing. The need faded somewhat, eventually. Sam loved Jess and he clung to her but Sam thought of Dean at the oddest times. He'd wonder where his brother was and he worried about Dean. And then Dean had come back and Sam had known that he was going to give in the moment he saw Dean's face in the light. He had been overcome with an odd sense of longing, a kind of homesickness.

Now that they were back hunting, things were the same and yet they were very different. The hunting was the same, the same graveyards, the smell of rotting flesh, the fear while waiting in the dark, the same sorrow for the victims. And Dean was the same, still sarcastic and immature and over-protective.

But things were different and it wasn't just that their father wasn't with them. It had always been about Sam and Dean, at least for Sam. But Sam was different. He was an adult and he wanted his father and brother to treat him like one, like a partner. He wanted his father to include him in decisions, he wanted Dean to stop throwing himself in front of the bullet for Sam. Like that would ever happen.

But if he wanted to be treated as an adult, maybe it was time that Sam started acting like one, stopped judging his father and brother for every little fault, for everything about their childhood and their life, and realize that they really did do the best they could.

He was always going to be different, even without the psychic stuff, he would always know what was out there in the dark. Even at Stanford, his oasis of normal, he never quite fit in. This was his life and he had better find the bright side or he would forever be in the dark. Dean had always known that, known that it didn't take much to be happy. Dean just needed his family. And if Sam was honest with himself, Dean made Sam happy. Dean always made things better, he always had. That was what was missing at Stanford.

Sam noticed movement, only a shadow moving in the dark but he knew that it was Dean after a glance at the clock showed that it was midnight. He watched the boy climb out the bathroom window with admirable agility, landing silently on his feet and scanning the motel parking lot before taking off again.

It was a struggle for Sam to stay in the car as Dean ran across the parking lot toward the road. They had used bait before, certainly, and Dean had often volunteered. The brothers had even used a child as bait once, to lure the Shrtiga, but then they had carefully controlled the environment.

Sam hoped that a car would swoop by and snatch the boy so that he could follow in his own car. That would mean he only had the human to contend with. But it didn't happen and Dean continued across the silent road and the abandoned lot on the other side.

Hopping out of the car, Sam began to follow. This was what he didn't want to happen, to chase Dean through the woods beyond the empty lot with a monster chasing the boy as well. Why did he agree to this again? Just because they didn't have any other leads…

Sam was trying to be quiet as he jogged along, when suddenly the boy stopped. Ducking behind the nearest tree, Sam watched as Dean slowly turned to his left, a fierce expression on his young features, but not fear. He wasn't surprised that Dean had noticed the monster before him. Dean had a sort of sixth sense about the supernatural that most of the time was better than Sam's psychic premonitions.

Tearing his eyes away from the boy, Sam got his first look at the monster. It was as tall as Sam and vaguely human in shape, but its musculature was like ropes wrapped around a human skeleton. Its face was bird-like and its hair actually appeared to be feathers.

Sam began sneaking up behind the monster while Dean occupied its attention. Now was the time for real stealth, he had to get close enough to slit the Farafew's throat with the silver knife he carried.

He noticed an odd look cross the boy's face, shock and there it was…fear. He saw the boy's mouth open but didn't hear the shout as something hard hit Sam in the back of his head. He had forgotten about the human accomplice.

Falling to the ground face first, Sam was for a moment blinded by scalding hot pain. Trying to breathe through it, he looked up just in time to see Dean sprint away like a jack rabbit, the monster hot on the boy's trail.

Sam struggled to his feet, his own fear overriding the pain and the spots dancing in front of his eyes. He spared a moment to look around, but didn't see the person who had hit him.

Now he wasn't trying to be quiet at all, simply running full out while trying to avoid the trees and low hanging branches and stumps and holes. He couldn't see Dean or the monster but he could hear them, crashing through the woods ahead of him.

And then he heard a scream, the gut-wrenching scream of a child in horrible pain. He practically stumbled onto the scene.

Dean was lying prone on the forest floor, trying to scramble away from the talon that the monster had stuck into the back of the boy's thigh. The boy was pinioned, trapped like a butterfly on a specimen wall. But then he suddenly twisted, in his hand the knife that Sam had given the boy as insurance. Dean stabbed the knife through the monster's hand.

The monster whirled away in a rage…and then it caught sight of Sam. It took off then, retreating into the woods. Sam wanted to give chase, but his first responsibility was the boy lying bleeding in the underbrush. Still, as he watched the monster sprint away, he saw another form out there, a human form that was turning away to leave as well. But Sam had already seen the person's face and he recognized her though he didn't think the person realized she had been spotted.

His attention was jerked back when he heard a choked whimper come from the ground. Dean had curled himself into a fetal ball, his tiny hands gripping the wound at the back of his leg, covered in dark blood. White straight teeth were biting hard into the boy's bottom lip as Dean made a valiant effort to manage his pain.

Dropping to his knees, Sam couldn't help his hands that went out to comfort the boy or the idiotic question that left his lips.

"Dean, are you ok?"

Looking down at a small child, Sam was surprised by the Dean-like response of tiny hands shoving his own massive ones away. Stunned, he watched the boy use his hands to push himself to his feet, like a push-up.

"I'm fine, just need a little patching up."

But when the boy's knees buckled on his first step, Sam didn't hesitate in sweeping Dean up into his arms, heedless of whatever protest might follow. Dean was in too much pain to put up much of a fight though and the boy was quiet in Sam's arms, clutching Sam's shirt in his small fists.

Sam carried the boy all the way back to the motel. Dean was so quiet in his arms that Sam almost thought the boy was asleep except for the harsh gasp of breath when Sam readjusted his grip as he opened the motel room door.

"Shh, Dean. You'll be ok."

The fact that Dean didn't have a snappy comeback worried Sam. He laid the boy down on the nearest bed, Dean's as a matter of fact, and then hurried into the bathroom to get the med kit.

"Dean, I need you to get out of your pants so I can see the wound, ok?"

Sam's heart broke just a little bit more at the sight of Dean's small face, already pale and drawn with pain but becoming distinctly apprehensive at the idea of Sam undressing him. Dean used shaking hands slippery with his own blood to unbutton his jeans. Sam didn't help at first, not wanting to further scare the boy but his assistance quickly became necessary.

Tense and shaking with fear and pain, Dean said nothing as Sam helped pull the boy's jeans off. The boy simply bit his lip again and stared at the comforter with wide, frightened eyes.

Maneuvering the boy to lie on his stomach, Sam took a look at the wound. It didn't look good. It was deep and ragged from the boy's struggles and still bleeding. Sam put pressure on it with a towel as he reviewed his options.

He didn't want to put the boy through any further pain, God knew he wanted to save this little boy from all the pain that he knew Dean had endured but he had no choice. Dean needed stitches.

Dean liked to use alcohol as an anesthetic, but Sam couldn't give any to the boy. Not only would it be bad for a child, but alcohol was a blood thinner and Dean had already lost too much blood.

Standing, Sam quickly got a glass of water from the bathroom and gave the boy half a pain pill from a bottle that Dean had picked up somewhere and put in the kit. He let the boy kneel up to take the pill and then Sam set up what he would need to put in the stitches.

"Hey, you doing ok, buddy?"

"What do you think?"

That was more like it. Sam let out a breathless laugh, pleased that the boy was feeling at least better enough to be annoying.

"I think you feel like crap right now. I'm gonna have to give you some stitches, ok?"

"What would you do if I said no?"

Sam laughed again. "Sorry, tough guy, but this is pretty non-negotiable."

"Figured."

"You're gonna feel a pinch."

Kneeling on the grungy motel room carpet, Sam was practically sweating as he prepared to put the needle through his brother's already red, irritated skin. Dean couldn't hold in the mewl of pain, although the boy quickly grabbed for the pillow, stuffing it into his mouth to stifle any other cries.

Sam finished quickly, the actual puncture was small so it had only taken three stitches. When he was done, he put away the kit and washed his hands, bringing back a wet towel to clean the boy's hands and leg with.

Dean was quiet and this time it wasn't because of the pain or being apprehensive. It looked like his brother wanted to say something. Finally Dean spoke again, having rolled to his side as he let Sam clean his hands.

"When's my dad gonna get here?"

God, Sam really didn't want to answer that question right now. "Soon, Dean. He'll be here soon."

Something must have shown on Sam's face though because that look came over the boy's features. That look that Sam had seen on Dean's face before. He had seen it the night that their father had been kidnapped by the Yellow-eyed Demon, the night that Dean had pulled Sam back from the flames that had overtaken that family's house.

It was the same look that Dean had been wearing when Sam slammed his brother into the wall and Dean had confessed…confessed that he was barely holding it together. That blank look on his features that spoke so much more eloquently of pain than any words. And green eyes filled with agony and desperation, despair so deep that Sam thought he could fall into it.

That look was on the child's face now, pressed as it was into the mattress. Dean never could keep the emotion out of his eyes.

"He's not coming, is he?"

"Of course he is. Dad would never just leave you."

"Then why isn't he here yet? Why hasn't he called?"

"Come on now. Dad needs you, he couldn't get by without you. Who would take care of Sammy?"

It was the wrong thing to say apparently as Dean started to cry then, curling up into a fetal ball again and shaking with sobs.

"That's all I'm good for. It's just 'do this' and 'do that', 'clean the weapons', 'make Sammy a sandwich', 'watch your brother', 'stay in the room'. I just want…"

Sam didn't need the boy to finish that sentence. He knew what his brother wanted, love. Dean was terrified of abandonment so this was like his worst nightmare.

He picked the boy up, cradling the tiny balled up form against his chest again and sitting against the headboard of the clean bed. Dean didn't protest, didn't even murmur in pain. The boy was too caught up in sobbing to notice that he was in the middle of a 'chick flick' moment.

But after only a moment, Sam could tell Dean was trying to get it under control. The boy was choking on the sobs and rubbing viciously at his tears with his fists.

"It's ok to cry."

"No, it's not." Dean's voice was gruff and certain.

"Why not?"

"It's for chicks. I used to cry for mommy, but Dad shouted…" Tears began streaming down Dean's face again and the boy choked on his words.

"Dad said to stop crying because mommy wasn't coming back."

Sam tucked the boy's face into his chest as the sobs came again. Sam's own eyes filled with tears as he tried to imagine that time after mom's death, that John had to deal with a four year old crying for his mommy, John's dead wife. Of course, John hadn't wanted to think about it, much less talk about it except to plan his revenge. He was filled with his own pain and utterly unable to assuage that of his son. Instead of letting the boy cry it out in his arms, John had told Dean to suck it up unable to listen to the child's pitiable plea.

Sam didn't know what to do, what to say. Things just kept getting worse and worse, he almost wished that he didn't know these things about his brother's life, didn't know the pain that had made Dean the way he was.

Dean could have died. Again. How many times was Dean going to be on death's doorstep before Sam admitted that his feelings for his brother went beyond lust or like or admiration…Sam was in love with Dean. He could no longer picture his perfect 'normal' future or any future for that matter without Dean in it.

And isn't that what love was? When you stopped wondering if there could be a future for the two of you and started wondering how you could possibly spend the rest of your life apart.

Admitting it was like letting the sun into a room. Sam couldn't understand now how he could have missed it. It had been right in front of his face, Dean had been literally right next to him. Sam had been so obsessed with new and different, with normal, that he couldn't see Dean, the real person not the enemy who was standing in his way. It had taken leaving to realize that he already had everything he needed.

Nobody had ever put this boy's needs first it seemed, especially not Sam. He remembered how Dean had begged him to take time off, to take a break to think after Sam survived the demon virus. Dean who didn't beg for anything from anyone had begged Sam, for time and Sam had just disregarded the older man, run away, again. Dean had finally displayed his own concerns and feelings and Sam had shot him down, kept pushing when he knew that Dean was ready to shatter.

The boy's breath had become more even. Dean had finished crying, so Sam scooted down the bed, so that they could lie beneath the sheets. He toed off his shoes and kept the boy in the circle of his arms, not willing to let the boy go. Sam needed this comfort perhaps as much as Dean did.

Sam took a deep breath of the boy's smell. He still smelled like the adult-Dean just fainter, cleaner.

"I miss Sammy." Dean's voice was a whisper of breath, warm and humid against Sam's t-shirt clad chest.

Sam stroked the boy's back, his hand practically as wide as Dean was. "What does Sammy do for you when you're hurt?"

"Nothing, he's just there, ya know?"

Sam did know, Dean drew strength from his family's presence even if he couldn't accept the comfort that he craved.

Suddenly filled with determination, Sam had to stop himself from squeezing the boy in his arms. He would fix this, turn Dean back into an adult, convince the older hunter that a romantic relationship was a good idea, more than that, the only idea that made sense. One day he wanted to hold his adult brother like this. Sam wanted Dean to let him in, he wanted to comfort the older man. Hopefully knowing what he knew now would give him a hole in the armor to work with.

Unsurprisingly, Sam didn't find it easy to fall asleep that night. Thoughts kept running through his head, plans and what-ifs and how-tos.

And memories. Sam remembered all the times he and his brother had shared a bed just like this in some crappy no-name, no-tell motel. All the times that they had lain snuggled up together reading or watching tv or talking in the dark despite that their father hadn't been there to hear them. All the times that they had fought and slept with their backs to one another, the times as they both got bigger and they couldn't seem to find a comfortable position without lying on top of one another but their father refused to get them their own room so they could have separate beds.

He remembered the laughing and the wrestling and in all those memories, Sam couldn't remember a single time in which the situation had been reversed like this. He couldn't remember a time in which Dean was the one to accept comfort and Sam the one to offer it, in which Dean was the one to lie in Sam's arms.

Not even when Dean was hurt or sick. Dean still had 'responsibilities' even then. He was the older brother who pretended to be fine and tried to still make Sam's breakfast and rubbed Sam's back as they lay in bed as if it were Sam who needed the comfort.

Sam wanted so much to comfort his brother, to be the one that Dean turned to, leaned on. Sam had wanted to comfort his brother before, before he left for Stanford. But then Sam had still been a child, easily deflected by Dean's sarcasm and jokes and defensiveness. Dean was never as callous as when he was cornered and in pain.

Dean was such an intriguing mix of strength and weakness, courage and vulnerability. That self-deprecating wit that just begged you to put Dean down, the way that Dean would ruin that cocky, knowing smile by casting his eyes down at the last minute in sudden self-consciousness, how he blushed and looked away when being thanked.

Sam would have to push love in Dean's face for his brother to accept it because love was always the last thing that Dean looked for, the last thing that he expected from others, even his own family. And yet Sam would need to be careful not to challenge Dean's pride, not to take away Dean's responsibility, his big brother characteristics.

And Sam would have to prove himself, prove to Dean that he could be leaned on, that he wasn't going to walk away again, that love was worth the risk. And Sam would have to prove it over and over and over again because Dean had been hurt too many times, had too many reasons to be distrustful, perhaps particularly of Sam.

Eventually Sam did sleep but he was woken early by the boy moving restlessly, trying to squirm out from under Sam's large hand.

"Hey," Sam's voice was thick with sleep, his mind sluggish. "Where are you going?"

Dean's voice was small with only a trace of his usual attitude when he answered, "The bathroom, duh."

Sam sat up in an instant, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and rubbing a hand over sleep-filled eyes. "Let me help you."

"What? It's the bathroom?" Dean's voice was both confused and indignant as the boy stood by the edge of the bed, staring up into Sam's face.

Sam sighed. Dean injured was always a struggle, why would an injured eight-year old Dean be any different. But the puncture had torn the boy's muscle and Dean really should stay off of it.

Not even bothering to explain himself, Sam swung the boy up into his arms and carried him to the bathroom despite Dean's indignant squawk at being manhandled. He deposited the boy in the bathroom and closed the door on Dean's annoyed tirade.

Sam dressed quickly, silently. He was there when the bathroom door opened again, carrying Dean back to the bed but allowing the boy to dress himself. Neither showered, just brushed their teeth and put on their clothes.

The silence in the room seemed heavy. For his part, Sam didn't know what to say, but he could tell that Dean was still upset, still believed that he had been abandoned.

"We'll go to the diner for breakfast."

This time when Sam moved to pick Dean up, the boy moved away. "What is with you carting me around?"

"You need to stay off your leg, allow the muscle to repair…"

"I can walk fine." Dean's voice was adamant.

"I know you can, but I don't…I don't like to see you in pain. I'm just trying to take care of you."

It was the god's honest truth and Dean didn't seem to know what to do with it. Bright green eyes searched his as if for falsehood and then dropped to the floor, uncomfortable with the attention.

Neither spoke as Sam picked the boy up again to carry Dean out to the Impala. It was an oddly intimate silence, like they had reached an understanding. Dean didn't pull away as Sam settled the boy's tiny weight on his left hip, but rather leaned in, resting his chin on Sam's shoulder.

It felt oddly domestic. Sam carried the boy into the diner, placing Dean down on the booth's seat and sliding in after him. Sam kept Dean in between himself and the window on purpose.

But the waitress that morning was different than the woman who had served them the previous night. Sam hadn't paid the woman a bit of attention. She had been plain, middle-aged like all of the victims. Without Dean, the adult Dean there for the woman to ogle and faux-flirt with, Sam hadn't noticed the woman at all.

Until he had seen her in the woods.

Just a woman, a woman named Stacy who probably felt that life had passed her by. She had been popular once, according to the small amount of research he had done. But a failed marriage to a man who left with all of her savings, had aged the woman, left her run-down and worn out, trying to make ends meet without any marketable skills or education.

It probably happened every day somewhere in America, but this time, this woman must've gotten her hands on some real spell books. She killed because she could, and because she was pissed.

Sam didn't need to pump this new waitress for the other woman's address, he had already gotten it off the internet. And Dean refused to have anything to do with breakfast, first saying he didn't want anything in clipped tones and then not eating what Sam ordered for him.

Sam didn't argue with the boy though. There just didn't seem to be anything that he could do to make things better for the kid. It hurt to see a small child so dejected but it also hurt because there was nothing that Sam would ever be able to do to make Dean's childhood alright, to fix what had been broken in his brother.

But Dean was strong. Fragile in places, frighteningly vulnerable to those few that he loved, Dean just needed, the older hunter needed family and love and comfort and support. Dean needed what everyone needed, he just wasn't used to getting it so he needed it more.

They didn't stay at the diner long and then they were back in the Impala, driving to the woman's house. As expected, her house was rundown, a one bedroom, ramshackle affair that didn't look like it had been tended to since Nixon was in office.

Sam hesitated before going in. He didn't want to leave Dean in the car but he certainly didn't want to bring the injured boy inside.

"Stay here. I mean it, I will be right back."

Sam stared at Dean until the boy nodded without looking at Sam.

Despite that it was the middle of the day, it was in such a bad section of town that Sam didn't worry too much about being seen. He knocked as there was no doorbell.

And then she answered. Sam felt like a tidal wave of anger washed over him as he got his first up close look at the woman who had caused all of this mess. He somehow blamed her for all of Dean's pain even though it hadn't been her fault at all, her actions had simply brought those incidents to light. Still she had killed three people…

Whipping the gun out from the waist band of his pants, Sam pushed the woman back into the house.

"Don't make a sound or I will shoot you."

The woman seemed terrified as she huddled in her messy living room, staring at him with wide frightened eyes and nodding her head spastically.

"You killed those men didn't you? Didn't you? You turned them into children and then summoned a demon to torture and kill them!"

He was screaming and she was crying by the end of his rant. And nodding, she was nodding her confession, not that Sam needed any further proof, the spell books were strewn all over, on the couch and the coffee table and the floor. He went over and looked down at the open pages of the book on top of the table. It was open to a picture of the Farafew.

Sam had no idea whether all of the books the woman had were real but he would gather them up all the same. He turned back to Stacy.

He raised the gun towards her and she cried louder, huge hysterical sobs that shook her whole body. Maybe she deserved to die, she had killed people and there was no other way for her to pay for those crimes…

But he couldn't. He couldn't stare at her face and shoot her in cold blood. It felt too much like revenge and not enough like saving people in danger. He would take away the books…

"Can you turn Dean back into an adult?"

She nodded, finally emitting a choked 'yes'.

"How? Where's the spell?"

She jumped into motion, desperately wiping her eyes to clear them enough to find what she was looking for. After a long painful moment of frantic scurrying around the room, Stacy was shoving a book towards him.

"Alright, I am taking these books. If this doesn't work, or if I ever hear of anything happening near you again, any deaths, anything strange…I will kill you."

Stacy was still nodding and sobbing, hysterical as Sam left feeling unfulfilled, unresolved.

Dean was confused as Sam returned to the car, dumping the armload of books in the trunk before sliding behind the wheel again.

The boy didn't ask for an explanation, just shot Sam quizzical glances. Sam hated to lie more but he couldn't possibly explain what was really going on. The Farafew was no longer a threat, it had to be summoned, but that threat was something that Dean would understand.

"You're gonna have to be bait one last time, ok? I'll summon the Farafew and kill it and this will all be over. You'll go back to Dad and Sammy, ok?"

Dean didn't respond, just nodded his acquiescence to the plan. Sam had already chosen the spot, secluded even in the daytime because Sam couldn't wait for nightfall.

When he stopped the car at an abandoned field, at the edge of the same woods as the night before, Sam simply opened his arms and the boy scooted over, lifted his own arms to be picked up. It made Sam want to cry suddenly.

Sam grabbed a blanket from the trunk along with a duffel. He sat the boy on a nearby log as he spread out the blanket and then set Dean down in the middle.

Dean looked small and vulnerable as Sam made an even more rudimentary circle around the boy with loose rocks. He looked truly like a sacrificial lamb and Dean seemed completely apathetic to it as if it no longer mattered what happened to him if his family didn't care.

Sam just wanted to get it over with. He couldn't explain, couldn't do anything to make this child feel better, all he could do was get it over with quickly. But he couldn't resist asking one last question of the child-Dean.

He was crouched on the edge of the circle, looking at Dean's face who was sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him.

"Dean, do you ever wish that things were different? That your dad didn't do this, that you didn't have to do this?"

Dean just looked at him, those huge green eyes still alive, flickering between grief and thoughtfulness and mirth.

"What's the point?" The boy's voice was light even though his eyes had settled on serious. "This is the way things are and I have to make the best of it." Tiny shoulders shrugged as if it weren't a big deal. "Somebody has to do it and I don't have any more right to be happy than anyone else."

Sam stifled a choked noise and looked away. The answer was so like Dean. Dean wasn't going to pass the buck to anyone else and he was going to get whatever enjoyment he could. What fills up your days, fills up your life.

Sam stepped back, the single book in his hands as he began to read the spell, uncertain as to whether the look on Dean's face was of trust or apathy.

Light began to fill the circle, seeming a thicker, brighter, whiter light in the daytime than at night. Before the light obscured his view, Sam could see the child-Dean turning onto his side, curling into the fetal position once again. And then screaming, so loud in the silence, those child screams of agony that Sam never wanted to hear again.

And then the screaming transformed, transformed into the deeper voice of his adult brother and yet it was still high-pitched, still agonized. And then it stopped. Everything, just like that, the screaming stopped and the light was gone.

There was Dean, the adult Dean still on his side but trying to push himself back up to a sitting position and breathing heavily, panting with the exertion of his previous screams. And he was naked, the clothes the boy had been wearing merely strips of cloth that had left red stripes on Dean's skin as they had shredded.

Sam rushed forward, needing to be closer, needing to see, to touch and make sure that Dean was ok, was there. He wanted to make sure that his brother was ok because Dean was still out of breath, still trembling and gasping in the aftershocks of some terrible pain.

Dean pushed himself up, collapsing on his butt as Sam slid to his knees in front of the older man, moving in between Dean's raised knees in an effort to be as close as possible. Dean raised his hand to forestall Sam's concern but Sam simply gripped his bicep hard enough to bruise. Sam brought his left hand up to cradle, to grip the back of Dean's neck, angling Dean's face up towards him.

"Sam, I'm fine. It stopped…the pain, it just…stopped."

Sam was close enough that he could clearly see the beads of sweat that had broken out on Dean's forehead, but he could also see that Dean's eyes were clear.

"You're fine? You're not hurt?" Sam didn't know why his own voice was so breathless.

"Yeah I'm fine, Sam, really." Dean pulled back, trying to move away from his brother, probably wanting to assess the situation, get some perspective.

Dean's eyes were wide as Sam pulled him forward fiercely.

"Good," Sam's voice was as fierce as his grip as he pulled Dean into a kiss. He didn't know what he was doing, what had come over him. Sam had only wanted to be near Dean, but being that close, with the adrenaline and the relief, and Dean…Dean being right there.

Dean's lips were full and soft…and not moving under his. Sam pulled away only a little, enough that he could see Dean's green eyes, wide and questioning and looking very vulnerable like the child-Dean's eyes had looked.

"Christo," the word blows Dean's moist, hot breath across Sam's wet lips.

Sam hasn't moved, he's still gripping Dean and Dean isn't pulling away. The older hunter has simply stopped moving. Sam's words come out in a rush, wanting to explain himself, wanting to get back to those lips that his gaze keeps drifting too.

"No, Dean, I'm not possessed. I haven't been touched by any spirit, no evil things have been messing with my head. Hell, I didn't even hit my head."

And even as he's talking he's pulling at Dean, pulling the other man towards him while Dean stares with those wide open, vulnerable eyes, not pulling away but not giving in.

"I just want you. I want you, Dean." Sam knew his voice was demanding, adamant and pleading. And like always Dean gave in.

The tension in the older man's body eased, letting Sam pull them together again. This time Dean's lips moved against his own and that only spurred Sam on, increased his urgency. He couldn't get enough, fast enough, close enough.

Dean made a movement, as if to try and get up more, to try and get the upper hand, but Sam used his greater weight to keep his position. Sam wanted it to be clear that he wanted to be an equal partner and to his surprise, Dean relented, relaxing in Sam's grip.

Soon Sam was nipping, sucking at Dean's lower lip, using his hand on the back of Dean's neck to force his brother's head back to expose the other man's throat. Sam slid his other hand up Dean's arm over his shoulder and down the sweat-slicked back, trying to get a grip on Dean to pull them closer. He wanted to feel Dean against him, the fact that Dean was naked while Sam himself was clothed only added to the experience.

It was all about Dean. Sam wanted to feel Dean and taste him and hear him and look at him and drink in his scent. He got his wish when a bite to Dean's neck caused the other man to arch in his arms, Dean pushing his naked chest against Sam's t-shirt clad one. Sam could feel Dean's erect nipples rub against him through the fabric and the sensation of the slight roughness must have felt good judging by the deep-throated groan that rumbled out of Dean's chest.

Sam began to press Dean down onto his back on the blanket as Dean's thighs came up to clench around Sam's hips, struggling for purchase as Dean tried to get some friction on his neglected sex.

Stroking his hands along the length of Dean's thighs encouraged the older man to wrap his legs completely around Sam. Dean's hands were clenched on Sam's arms as he began to thrust his hips up against his brother's khaki-covered crotch.

Dean was gasping and panting and biting his own full lower lip as he thrust and writhed within the circle of Sam's arms. Sam was entranced and he certainly had no thought to move away long enough to remove his own pants.

He simply reached a hand down to unzip, gasping out a moan when his cock first touched the smooth skin of Dean's belly. That was all, just thrusting and kissing and stroking hands. Sam came first, jerking and gasping out words like 'God' and 'Dean' and 'finally', and then watching as Dean shuddered and moaned, his head tossing as he arched hard, exposing every vulnerable place to Sam.

Sam collapsed just to the side, Dean's legs finally unclenching from around Sam to lie straight out. Leaning his forehead against Dean's shoulder, he listened to his older brother's laboured breathing, finding it inexplicably comforting as nothing had been since Dean was transformed into a child.

But he couldn't resist lifting his head to look some more. Dean's eyes were closed but his face was tilted toward Sam's side. He looked exhausted to Sam, but Sam also got the feeling that his brother was thinking, digesting before he opened his eyes again.

Sam was surprised by how small Dean was, how lean when naked…or wearing an orange jumpsuit for that matter. Dean had always been this huge force in Sam's life, Dean had such a huge presence that it was easy to forget that Sam was bigger. Sam's arms could completely enwrap the smaller man.

Finally though, Dean swallowed and opened his eyes to look earnestly up at Sam.

"This isn't the circle I remember."

Straight to business first, but Sam thinks that might be a good thing right then. Get it out of the way.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"Saving that guy from a stone circle, at night." Dean's eyes are looking around now, taking in the surroundings and shining like emeralds in the sunlight.

"Dean that was days ago…"

Dean's eyes snapped back to Sam's in a flash, concern suddenly filling their depths. "Well, what happened?"

"You were right."

Dean didn't let him get further than that without comment, his voice full of that odd smug uncertainty that Sam suddenly thinks he might be able to tolerate better when Dean is naked and underneath him.

"Of course I was. Right about what?"

"The Farafew. You were in the circle and it suddenly filled with light and it turned you…it turned you into an eight year old."

"Really?" Dean asked and for a moment, he looks impressed and intrigued before the worry comes back. "Well did you get it?"

Sam smiled. "You did."

"Damn right I did, even as an eight year old I was probably better than you…" Dean trailed off in his self-important rant and coughed, showing that he was uncomfortable with his next words.

"So you, what? Like took care of me?"

Sam sighed and shifted closer to Dean suddenly wondering whether his brother war warm enough. "You didn't need much taking care of, Dean, but, yeah, I tried."

Dean nodded slowly, swallowing Sam's not-very-enlightening answer but not looking into Sam's eyes.

"That still doesn't explain why you jumped me?" Dean's voice was attempting light but Sam knew that the question was a serious one.

"Because you're beautiful." Sam wanted to run his hand along the side of Dean's face but he didn't dare.

"Well, of course, that's nothing new." Dean's voice was a little hoarse and he still wouldn't look at his brother. Sam knew then that though Dean was trying to be humorous, the idea that Sam was only attracted because of his looks bothered Dean.

He tried to correct the mistake immediately, giving in and touching Dean's face. "You're beautiful and caring and heroic and funny…and immature and annoying and over-protective…"

Sam knew he was winning as he saw a smirk lifting the corners of Dean's full mouth, saw that Dean was fighting to keep his eyes averted and not give an eye-roll.

"And I've been in love with you forever."

At that Dean looked at him, the question in his eyes completely expected, but it didn't mask the fear and hope and pain that were also there in those beautiful eyes.

"So what is this?"

"Dean, I want this." Sam shook his hand to encompass their current position, Dean at least naked and both sated, not wanting to have to say the word 'relationship'. "This, all the time and everything that comes with it. Do you? Do you want to be with me, like this?"

Dean bit his lip at the emotions that clouded his eyes but he met Sam's gaze and spoke, though his voice was soft and hoarse. "Yeah, Sammy. I want this."

Sam smiled. He knew that a sexual relationship, a romantic relationship wasn't going to be any easier than their relationship as brothers. Dean was still going to Dean. Sam couldn't expect Dean's walls to crumble over night and they were definitely going to have to talk about Dean's flirtatious nature…but Sam thought, no, he knew that it would be worth it.

Still he had to ask. "Dean, you said some things while you were a kid…"

Dean scowled and tried to turn away, but Sam held him fast. There was a flash of emotion in Dean's eyes, something that Sam thought might be respect or understanding, understanding that Sam wasn't going to let him close up, not with this between them.

"Sam, I was a kid. I'm sure I was whiny and bitching and moaning and exaggerating."

Sam shook his head, the tears returning to his eyes again. "No, Dean. You didn't whine or bitch and you certainly didn't exaggerate."

Sam didn't intend to tell Dean all of what he had said as a child, all of what he had revealed. He wasn't going to keep it a secret, if it came up or Dean asked but he didn't think that Dean wanted to know all that had happened. But there was one thing that Sam had to ask.

"Dean, when did you stop wanting to be a firefighter? When did you start wanting to be a hunter?"

Dean laughed a little, slightly more at ease with that question than whatever else the older man was probably imagining Sam asking.

"I actually told Gordon this story, ya know? I was sixteen when I realized I would never be able to walk away, not like you did."

Sam flinched even though he knew that this time Dean hadn't said it to be deliberately provoking. Still the younger man knew that that his time at college would be something that would take them both a long time to get over.

"I just would never be able to walk away and leave all those people to their fate, never pretend that I didn't know what was out there or that it didn't involve me."

Sam just nodded because that was what he had thought. This was their life and it looked to have just gotten a whole lot better.


End file.
